


Wherefore Art Thou?

by Persnickety



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Complete, F/M, References to Shakespeare, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-04 22:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6677482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persnickety/pseuds/Persnickety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Headmaster and his Potions professor are asked to read Shakespeare to the Muggle Studies fourth years so that they might gain a greater appreciation for the great squib bard.</p><p>All hail J.K. Rowling, creator of the Hogwarts sandbox in which I play. I receive no compensation from this work other than your lovely comments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Romeo, oh Romeo

Severus Snape was not what one could call a warm man. He wasn’t unreasonable by any means -- at least, not since the war had ended, his name cleared, his private life splashed across the Daily Prophet for mass consumption, his position as Potions Master reinstated, the post as Headmaster offered (and eventually accepted), and the vast majority of his evilly bitter facade discarded in favor of his more naturally taciturn personality. No, he’d been understanding, even intrigued when the new Muggle Studies professor, Siobhan Cowles, had recommended that the course become mandatory for all students to OWL level. He’d been supportive when she’d incorporated a selection of famous works from the Western literary canon, particularly those that addressed Wizarding phenomena. He’d even agreed, albeit reluctantly, when she’d decided to mount a staged reading for fourth years of that most famous squib’s play,  _ Romeo and Juliet. _ (Was it any wonder he so often wrote of magic and bound souls?)

But this was to much to be borne. “Professor Cowles, I do not understand why you wish for the staff to participate in your classroom reading.” He restrained his temper as he noted the hurt look on the professor’s face before he barreled on. “Simply have the students do the reading! It’s their education, shouldn’t they be the ones engaging with the literature?”

The older woman sighed as she explained her reasoning. “They’re not able to adequately cope with the language of the Bard at this age -- they’ll stumble and stammer their way through it and understand nothing of the poetry or imagery in his work. Honestly, Headmaster, I’d rather just show them a video but that isn’t an option unless we can mysteriously wire the classroom for electricity.”

“None of the other professors need such teaching aides, Siobhan.” It was an old argument.

“And I still say that if I’m supposed to teach them about Muggle ways then the curriculum should have access to Muggle technology. But that’s an argument for another day. In the meantime, I need two people to read from  _ Romeo and Juliet _ for my class and you are by far the best male candidate.”

He narrowed his eyes at the old battleaxe. “And why is that, Professor Cowles?”

She rolled her eyes. “I would have thought that obvious, Headmaster. Certainly you’ve heard yourself; you have a wonderful speaking voice and an impressive command of the performative nuances of the English language. Also, your voice doesn’t squeak like Filius’, crack like Neville’s, or put everyone to sleep like Binns’.”

“High praise indeed.”

“Please, Headmaster. It’s just a few hours of your time -- a few hours to rehearse and an afternoon for the class reading -- and only for a couple of scenes. Will you help me?”

Snape knew he was caving as soon as she reached out and patted his arm. He must be going soft.“Fine. Far be it for me to say I won’t support the staff in their academic endeavors. When would you like to rehearse?”

“Me? Oh, no. I’m sorry Headmaster, I’ll be setting up and supervising the students' work on an in-class activity based on your little performance. I won’t be able to read alongside you. Professor Granger has offered to play opposite you for my purposes, though I will call a couple of lines from one of the scenes from offstage. She’ll meet with you tomorrow night in the staff room after dinner and share the details with you. Thank you again, sir, for your willingness to help! I have to go meet my seventh years now. Good afternoon!” The woman scurried off before the Headmaster could get a word in edgewise.

He had to hand it to her, he’d been rather neatly cornered. “Woman should’ve been in Slytherin,” he muttered under his breath. He could hear Dumbledore stifling a chortle off in his frame across the room and shot the man a warning glance -- the erstwhile mastermind knew that Severus’ threats of dousing his portrait with turpentine weren’t idle. Shaking his head at his own gullibility, he huffed out a long sigh. It wasn’t that he minded so much participating in the reading, but to do so opposite his Potions professor would be...uncomfortable, to say the least. He’d largely avoided being alone with Herm-- Professor Granger over the past three years, two months, and twelve days of her tenure at Hogwarts. But he wasn’t counting.

After seven years as her instructor and another five as her Mastery supervisor, he knew he’d developed a more than a bit of a tendre for the frighteningly intelligent witch with mad hair. Not that she’d ever think of him that way, old bitter creature that he was. And not that he’d had such thoughts when she was a student, though it had been gratifying to watch her blossom from swotty student into a confident and highly competent adult. He felt rather a glowing sense of pride at her accomplishments, which he knew would likely surpass his own in a decade’s time, and knew that hiring her on as Potions professor had been a smart choice. Her students excelled in Potions class and she held them to the same high standards he himself had demanded when she had been his student; NEWT level enrollment was at an all-time high, and that accomplishment could be placed squarely on her shoulders. All the same, interacting with the woman on a daily basis served as a poignant reminder that there were things lost on the war that could not be recovered, not the least of which was the time and skill needed to woo a beautiful woman. 

There was no help for it -- he’d agreed to working with Professor Granger for the next few days and he would not be caught failing to keep a commitment, even if he rather loathed the idea of performing to his students. With a decisive nod, he shifted his attention to the stack of paperwork on the ornate desk in front of him. Perhaps if he drowned himself in ink and parchment he would forget the fact that he’d be reading poetry to a room full of fourteen year-olds as the loveliest woman of his acquaintance did the same.

❧HGSS❧

Hermione entered the staff room clutching at her battered copy of The Norton Anthology of Shakespeare’s plays with some trepidation. It seemed odd that she would be spending the next several evenings reading poetry with her (admittedly dashing) boss, of all people. She’d been teaching under Headmaster Snape for just over three years now and had found him a fair employer, if infuriatingly distant. 

She might have missed their cozy teas and discussion of potent potables and pernicious poisonous -- gads, she was even thinking like Shakespeare -- but she understood that as Headmaster he’d needed some distance from his employees. The poor man was surrounded by co-workers while living and working, one of whom he’d been saddled with as a student for twelve years, after all. She could hardly blame him for wanting some space to himself. Particularly as she was fairly sure she’d failed to hide her infatuation for the man in the last eighteen months of her apprenticeship. It was hardly his fault that she’d fallen in love with him, so she had only herself to blame for her current miserable predicament. It wasn’t as if he’d done anything to court her attentions; he’d been as professional and implacable as ever, though decidedly more relaxed, throughout the entirety of her five years as his apprentice. And he couldn’t have made it plainer after her Mastery was attained that he did not enjoy time in her company as much as she enjoyed time in his as he avoided her at every turn. Hermione swallowed against the wretched lump of disappointment that arose whenever she thought about Severus Snape and his unfamiliar distance from the Potions professor.

Of course, his professionalism didn’t seem to stop him from spending time with Minerva or Filius. She knew he and Filius had tea every Tuesday at four o’clock precisely, and that he and Minerva had a standing date of Old Ogdens and Wizard’s Chess most Sunday evenings. But they were old friends and colleagues, not former pupils. No matter how close she’d thought their relationship during her apprenticeship, she couldn’t claim that kind of relationship with Sev -- Professor Snape. Not that this explained his bi-weekly tour of the greenhouses with Neville, with whom he seemed to have established a familiar rapport. Or his occasional evenings listening to classic rock with Aurora and Sybil, who both had similarly fetishistic obsessions with Robert Plant. Or his morning visits with Hagrid to the owlry. Actually, now that she thought about it she was just about the only person on staff that the Headmaster  _ didn’t _ spend any time with outside of staff meetings. Which she supposed meant he thought they had nothing in common but a mastery in potions. She admitted to herself that her problem wasn’t with his professionalism; the fault was clearly in her. Something about her presence made him consistently avoid her company.

Moping a bit, she looked around the staff room and found that it had emptied after her arrival. Only a wheezing Argus remained passed out in the window seat in the far corner. She chose a seat in a small nest of comfortable armchairs near the hearth, aiming to steer clear of the man. He was pleasant enough now that she was a professor, but his breath invariably smelled of sardines and gherkins. She picked at a loose thread on the arm of her chair as she idly wondered if he shared meals with Mrs. Norris, whose breath was much the same.

Settling into the worn leather of the armchair, Hermione summoned a cup of tea and consulted the list,that Siobhan had handed her after railroading the overly helpful young woman into agreeing to read to the class. The parameters were simple. Staged reading to take place on Friday at three o’clock, which gave them three nights to prepare. Scenes to be read: Act 2, Scene 2 and Act 3, Scene 5 -- The Balcony and Morning After scenes, respectively. Well shit. That wouldn’t be awkward  _ at all _ . What the hell was Siobhan thinking?

She was saved from a full blown panic attack by the arrival of the focus of her thoughts. The door was flung wide and his teaching robes billowed out behind him, lending a dramatic flair to his otherwise spare frame. It had taken her nearly two years into her apprenticeship to realize that all the door slamming and fabric-swishing was second nature, not some act put on for the students. He entered every room the same way, too impatient to get to the next task to consider his abuse of every hinge in the castle. Hermione hid her smirk behind her teacup as she sipped at the cooling beverage. 

Severus nodded to her as he took the seat opposite, setting his copy of the Riverside Shakespeare down as he summoned his own cup of tea. “Professor Granger.”

“Good evening Headmaster. How are you this evening?”

“Well enough, thank you. It was a productive day, at least. Professor Cowles said you had the details of which scenes we were to read for her class?”

She nodded and handed him the slip of paper. “Yes. Just two scenes, thankfully -- The Balcony Scene and the Morning After scene.” Was she imagining it, or was the man blushing?

The Headmaster cleared his throat. “I see. Well, they’re the most iconic, I suppose. I can’t say that I’m overly familiar with the details of the play anymore -- I haven’t read  _ Romeo and Juliet _ in years, but I know the plot of course. Star-crossed lovers, fated to be parted, missed messages, and suicide. Not my favorite play, truth be told.”

Well that wasn’t terribly surprising. “I’ve always enjoyed it, but I can see why you might not enjoy this particular work. It’s rather chock-full of what I’m sure you’d call vulgar sentimentality.” She sniffed a bit at that, but tried not to display her assumption of his taste. 

“Now now, Professor Granger. You saw enough of my bookshelves during your own apprenticeship to know I have an appreciation for quite a bit of ‘vulgar sentimentality.’ No, my problem with Romeo and his bride are that they’re idiots. I’ve taught enough 12 and 14 year-olds to know how rampant hormones can twist their little brains into knots. Both of those children -- who for reasons beyond me are heralded as one of the most romantic couples of all time despite the fact that they’re barely teenagers -- threw themselves headlong into marriage and ran around destroying the lives of everyone around them. They’re impulsive and selfish, and they pay a high price for it.” He shrugged at her as he sat back and took a healthy swallow of his tea. 

Hermione smiled at his summation, but privately thought he was protesting a bit much and attributed his dislike of the play less to two headstrong children (who she could silently agree were annoyingly daft when it came to their mishandled courtship and marriage), but to the themes of missed and misinterpreted messages, faked deaths, unrequited love, and needless deaths. Harry had never shown her Professor Snape’s memories, but she knew that he’d loved Lily Evans, that their friendship was broken beyond repair, and that his eavesdropping and lack of message interpretation had eventually led to her violent death. Perhaps the Bard’s story mirrored too much of the Headmaster’s own youthful mistakes, though he’d been lucky enough to survive his.

She polished off her tea and set the cup down on the side-table with a clink. “Well, I suppose we should get started. Shall we?”

“Yes. Act 2, Scene 2.” He cleared his throat and began to read aloud. 

> _ He jests at scars that never felt a wound. _
> 
> _ But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? _
> 
> _ It is the east, and juliet is the sun. _
> 
> _ Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, _
> 
> _ Who is already sick and pale with grief, _
> 
> _ That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. _

Hermione shivered as Severus continued to read through Romeo’s opening monologue. His mellifluous baritone was caressing the words of the love-lorn youth, and she could imagine for a moment that this was not her employer seeing out a promised duty, but a man attempting to seduce his love. She allowed herself to become lost in his words, a blushed furiously when he looked up and caught her staring at his face.

“Professor Granger? Your line?”

She started and glanced down at her copy of the text. “Oh! Sorry. Um:  _ Ay me. _ ”

He smirked at her as he returned to his own copy of the play: “ _ O, speak again bright angel! _ ” He snorted and looked up at Hermione again. “Seriously? Speak again, bright angel? She said two words and he’s panting like a crup.”

“Well, he’s fourteen and in love!” she giggled. “Surely you can remember the intensity of your first crush. As far as I know, everyone acts a fool the first time they’re in love.”

“I think we all know how my first crush worked out, Professor Granger, and how I behaved.” he replied softly, keeping his eyes trained on the page.

She blushed furiously and murmured an apology as he continued with Romeo’s speech, and their reading continued without interruption. As spoke, Hermione reflected that she could understand Juliet’s plight all too well.  _ O, be some other name!  _ Indeed. She snuck a glance at her employer as he picked up his line, thinking that she wished she were not bound by her position to hide her attraction to her employer and mentor. They’d been almost friends during her apprenticeship, sharing tea nearly every afternoon and discussing everything from potions research to world history to his little-known guilty pleasure, American quiz shows. He’d been her touchstone after the graduation, the person she’d seen most frequently after Harry and Ron had gone off to Auror training. He’d become Headmaster and offered her the position of Professor of Potions just as her Mastery had been completed, and within the space of 48 hours she’d lost that relationship to an unequal formality that left her feeling alone in her day-to-day life at Hogwarts.

The clearing of a throat startled Hermione from her reflections as she spoke her next lines, and she tried to play closer attention so that she would not be caught with her mind wandering again. She found herself silently disagreeing with Juliet’s “ _ Fain, would I dwell on form _ ,” thinking that she would give almost anything to discard the formalities of her relationship with the Headmaster and tell him how she felt. She found herself near tears as she continued with Juliet’s effusive declaration of love, choking on the words as they swam before her on the page.

> _ Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say “Ay,” _
> 
> _ And i will take thy word; yet if thou swear’st, _
> 
> _ Thou mayst prove false; at lovers’ perjuries _
> 
> _ They say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,  _
> 
> _ If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully;  _
> 
> _ Or if thou think’st I am too quickly won, _
> 
> _ I’ll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay, _
> 
> _ So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. _

Severus looked up at his Potions instructor with concern. “Professor -- Hermione. Are you alright?”

Embarrassed, Hermione gave a wet sniffle. “Fine! Um. It’s just the play. It gets to me every time.” She was lying and saw that he knew it, but he allowed it to pass without comment. Severus simply transfigured his saucer into a soft handkerchief, which she blearily used to blow her nose. 

“Hardly any surprise you’re crying,” muttered Argus Filch from the corner. “Damned hoity toity language has me near tears myself. If you were gonna’ torture me, you could have at least waited ‘til I was awake,” the ancient man grumbled as he shuffled out the door of the staff room.

Hermione caught Severus’ eye as the caretaker went on his way and saw his mouth quirk at the corner before he forced it back into submission. She gave a watery chuckle and returned her attention to the task at hand, finishing Juliet’s monologue and allowing Severus to respond with his lines. She found herself leaning toward Severus’ chair and breathing shallowly as they exchanged their lines. Hermione had always loved this play, in particular the heightened emotions of the two young lovers as they came to terms with their feelings for one another. She didn’t know if she was imagining it, but she almost thought that she could see her former mentor embracing the words himself. His voice dropped and his eyes seemed unfathomably dark as he shifted in his chair to ask “ _ O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied _ ?”

Her own response emerged in a huskier timbre than was her norm as she -- as Juliet -- uttered a sultry “ _ What satisfaction canst thou have tonight _ ?”

Onward they read, reading aloud a scene of such tender new-found love that Hermione felt herself tearing up again as the words on the page once again aligned with her own feelings. She heard herself flirtatiously threaten to forget why she called her love to her, if only to have him remain so that she could continue to enjoy his presence. She’d felt the same about Severus for so long, seeking out his company after meetings or during meals, if only to be near him even if it was in public and within hearing of others. Damn Siobhan, for asking her to read  _ this scene _ of all scenes. Sitting across from Severus while speaking words of love was as torturous as it could possibly be, and she knew she lacked the man’s ability to temper her emotions with reasoned calm. 

When the scene finally ended, Hermione found herself short of breath, as though she had just run a race. She kept her eyes trained on her copy of the play, lest she look at him with her heart in her eyes and expose her inner turmoil for him to see and reject. That sat in silence awhile longer as the Headmaster shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

His voice was gruff when he finally spoke. “Shall we read through it again, Professor Granger? Or shall we continue on to the next scene?”

“I don’t believe I have the time to read through this again tonight, Headmaster.” she said, finally looking up. “I --" she grasped for an excuse "need to make a call. Um. I told Ronald I'd floo him tonight. Perhaps we could save the next scene for tomorrow night, then read through both the night before the staged reading for the fourth years?” 

Severus nodded. “That would be acceptable. I’ll bid you a good night, then. Or perhaps adieu, as it were.”

“Yes sir. Good night.” Hermione gathered the heavy tome to her chest and concentrated on not running from the room. She walked through the halls, feigning calm, stopping only once she was ensconced within her own apartments. Once safe inside, she simply leaned against the closed door and allowed her breath to sough out, nearly hysterical with the feelings roiling within her. She sank to the floor with a small sob and buried her face in her robes. If she survived until the end of Friday, she was going to kill Siobhan Cowles.


	2. Through Yonder Window

Severus returned to his rooms in a very bad mood indeed. He threw himself into the armchair in his library and toed off his boots, loosening his cravat and wandlessly releasing the buttons of his waistcoat while he was at it. He felt...constrained, and ran his hands through is hair to loosen it from its leather tie. Shaking his hair forward, he eyed the decanter of 100 year cognac that Lucius had gifted him for his 45th birthday. He drank it sparingly, but tonight seemed like a night for indulgence. Surely spending an hour alone in Hermione’s company without dragging her back to his bedroom counted as some sort of accomplishment, though it was hardly something to celebrate. He waved his hand to pour and summon a snifter of the brandy and settled in for a good brood.

He honestly didn’t know how he was going to make it to the end of the week, much less the end of the school term, without doing something about his inconvenient feelings for the Potions professor.  _ His _ Potions professor. The chit had begun growing on him almost from the first day of her apprenticeship, and before long he’d found himself inviting her to tea just so he could draw her into conversation. He’d brewed with her in his laboratory, tortured by the scent of her shampoo (an interesting mixture of pomelo, honeysuckle, and moss that he knew she mixed herself) in the small space. He’d spent long hours debating potions theory in his office, trying not to stare at the familiar face that had somehow transitioned from girlishness to womanhood while he wasn’t looking. He knew,  _ he knew _ , that there was no possibility that she’d be interested in a man so much her senior, with such a controversial reputation who kept company with former Death Eaters, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from seeking her out during her time as his mentee. Only his ascension to the post of Headmaster and the realization that he would have to continue to interact with her daily had brought him to his senses. He’d made himself stay away from her, ending their quiet conversations before he lost control of himself and begged her to take him to her bed.

And oh, how he wanted to be in her bed. His fingers tightened on the stem of his glass as his brain raced through the myriad fantasies he’d entertained over the years. It might be dishonorable to spend each evening thinking about a woman in his employ naked, sweating, and screaming his name, but justified his thoughts by reminding himself that imagined intimacy was as close as he would ever get to stripping her body bare and emptying himself into her. It’s not as though he could stop the thoughts if he wanted to. He’d barely been able to restrain his thoughts during their hour together this evening. She’d looked so forlorn when he’d first come into the room, he wanted to gather her into his lap and kiss her until neither of them could think at all. She’d probably had a tiff with dear  _ Ronald _ , he thought derisively. He still didn’t understand how such an intelligent woman could spend time with the muscle-bound dunderhead. She was a woman who needed a man of refinement, a man like -- but that way lay madness. He cut his thoughts off with a snap and returned to frowning into his drink.

Perhaps he was simply meant to be alone. There had to be a reason that he was continually attracted to women who would never have him, great ugly bat that he was. Lily, rest her soul, had never been able to see him as more than a friend and he knew now that she was tied to appearance both physical and social to pursue a romantic relationship with him. Narcissa had been obsessed with his best friend since their final year at school; he was fairly sure she’d never even contemplated him as anything other than Lucius’ “little brother”. And Hermione -- too young, too well-loved by the Wizarding community, and too close with a certain scarheadded annoyance and his ginger-haired, quidditch-obsessed, bottomless pit of a best friend. It was hopeless.

Preparing this little scene for Siobhan’s class wasn’t helping matters at all. He’d already spent the better part of his day thinking about trying to not think about Hermione (and failing miserably). Hearing her read the oft-repeated words of love and adoration to him, even knowing the words weren’t  _ meant _ for him had caused his heart to flutter in his chest. Not that he’d ever apply such a phrase to himself. To be truthful, it had caused movement in other areas too which was the only reason he’d not risen as she’d quit the room at the end of their rehearsal session. He didn’t know what Siobhan was playing at, but if he might have to devise an appropriate punishment if he survived past the staged reading on Friday. One couldn’t  _ actually _ die of unfulfilled desire, could they?

❧HGSS❧

“Good evening, Headmaster.” Hermione said as she entered the staff room. Severus couldn’t help but note that her normal chirping enthusiasm was absent tonight. The ginger oaf was probably still making her unhappy, then, the bounder.

He nodded to the tired young woman. “Professor Granger. Shall we?” he gestured toward the book by his side.

“Actually, I spoke to Professor Cowles today,” she said. “Siobhan planned this as a staged reading, which means we aren’t to simply sit in front of the students and read the language aloud. We’re supposed to move about the room as though we were performing on stage. She suggested that we spent the next two nights blocking and rehearsing in the Muggle Studies classroom so that we looked rehearsed. If we drop the second scene, we should have enough time tonight and tomorrow night to work it out.” 

Severus’ eyes widened at the thought of “rehearsing” a profession of love with the woman in front of him. “Is that strictly necessary, Professor Granger? Surely we can improvise our movements on Friday.”

“I don’t know, Sev -- Headmaster,” she said, coloring. “The Balcony Scene has some rather specific blocking, and I’d rather not leave anything to chance on Friday. I don’t want to fumble in front of the students and make a fool of myself; the fourth-years are my most rambunctious lot, and they’ll be unable to concentrate in Potions next week if they’re too focused on making fun of us while my back is turned.”

“Very well.” he acquiesced. “Let’s see what we can make of the classroom without breaking the castle.”

❧HGSS❧

Hermione returned to her room feeling both elated and frustrated. Rehearsal with Severus had gone entirely too well. They’d managed to modify a projection charm to display their texts in the air in front of the reader while keep them invisible to anyone not in the reading. The charm had freed their hands to move about the room, and they’d been able to roughly block the scene and decide what “set pieces” to transfigure for the reading on Friday. They’d kept it simple -- a balcony with an arch over it, a trellis with secure footholds, and a tree to represent the garden. The entire process had taken only a couple of hours.

Of course, two hours with Severus Snape felt like twenty when you accounted for the fact that she’d wanted to drop all pretense of professionalism and fling herself into his arms. He’d looked delicious, striding around the room in his dark robes and slim boots. Perhaps he was more Heathcliffian than Romeoesque, but he’d struck a romantic figure nevertheless. She sighed a bit as she walked to her bedroom, removing her heavy teaching robes and hanging them neatly in the closet. She was sure she’d looked positively clumsy next to his graceful swagger; it was probably for the best that Juliet remained rooted to the balcony for the majority of the scene. Privately, she thought she’d probably looked like the graceless teenager she’s once been, mooning on the balcony and trying not to look at Severus’ arse every time he turned away from her.

Feeling the cumulative weight of her day pressing down on her shoulders, Hermione ran a bath and poured some of her favorite bath bubbles -- a Christmas gift from Ron just before their breakup -- into the water. Ronald might be an immature prat, but he’d had the good sense to get Ginny to help him with his Christmas shopping. She slid into the hot, frothy water and closed her eyes, letting the scent of jasmine and musk ease the tension from her body and mind. 

She knew she should stop obsessing about Severus Snape. It was hopeless to fantasize about her boss and horribly unprofessional to imagine his hands on her before she slept each night, but even as she thought this her hands were drifting under the water to tease her body into a state of arousal. She gave a mental shrug as she felt her body begin to respond to the combination of her fingers and her naughty visions.  _ If this is all I ever have of the man, what’s the harm in indulging?  _ She knew very well that the harm lay in prolonging her own angst each time she was in his presence, but at the moment that seemed like a small price to pay for a little pleasure. With a little huff of laughter she sank lower in the water and prepared to indulge her imagination as fully as she could.

❧HGSS❧

“Professor.”

“Headmaster.”

“Shall we?” Severus gestured toward the already-transfigured classroom in invitation.

“Yes. We should probably refine the blocking tonight. We really only went through the motions yesterday, and as the performance is tomorrow I’d like to make sure I know exactly what we’re doing,” she said decisively.

“I should think that you’d have the easier role there, Professor Granger.” he said with a smirk. “After all, you mostly lean on a balustrade while I have to skulk around a tree and climb a bloody trellis.”

“Surely after all the time as a spy you’d have the skulking down. And you’re a fit man, I’m sure a four foot climb will do you no harm,” she said with a smile.  _ What are you doing, Hermione? Stop flirting with him! _

Severus cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Yes. Well. That’s fine then. Why don’t you get on your balcony and we’ll see how this goes, shall we?” He moved away from her as quickly as he could without appearing foolish, failing to note the look of disappointment in Hermione’s eyes as he did so. 

Hermione moved to the back of the small balcony and stone wall they’d transfigured and eyed the platform above. With a twitch of her wand, she created a ladder so she could climb up to her “bedroom” and narrowly avoided face-planting into the wall when her foot caught on her robes as she stepped on the first rung. She let out a little screech and caught herself before she bashed her head into the transfigured stones.

“Are you alright back there?” she heard Severus ask.

“I’m fine! Just tripped over my stupid robes. I’m just going to remove them for our work on the scene. The last thing I need to do is walk around campus with a black eye because I’m too clumsy to climb a ladder.”  She quickly stripped off her teaching robes and lay them over a desk, adjusting the simple plum-colored surplice dress she wore beneath to ensure that everything was where it should be within and cursing her hair when it got in her way. She returned to the ladder and made her way up to the balcony without further incident. “Ready when you are!” she called.

“Right.” Severus flicked his wand to create the invisible text that would float in front of him. He began his monologue facing toward the empty classroom, morosely intoning “ _ He jests at scars that never felt a wound _ .” before turning to face Hermione on her balcony. He nearly stumbled when he caught sight of Hermione leaning against the balustrade, staring wistfully off into the distance. Her hair had tumbled out of its chignon and streamed behind her and dress gaped in the front as she supported her head in her hand, framing what he mused were the world’s most perfect breasts in soft fabric. His voice croaked a bit as he read the next lines and he could not help but think that Romeo’s “ _ But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? _ ” had never sounded more appropriate in his life.

Hermione was startled by Severus’ voice when he turned; she hadn’t realized the man had such a knack for acting and she had to physically pinch her own arm to keep from staring at him as that silken voice caressed such words of heart-sick infatuation. She sighed, thinking to herself that she could listen to Severus read Shakespeare from now until eternity when such emotion could be heard in his dulcet tones. Her “ _ Ay me _ .” reflected perfectly how hopelessly attracted she was to the man below her. She couldn’t help but romanticize the dark, brooding, intelligent, and now  _ romantic _ sounding man below her. 

The worked their way through the scene, pausing often to refine Severus’ placement within the small garden set they’d conjured. He complained that he was getting a crick in his neck from staring up at her, though he’d done so in good humor. Hermione found that she was having trouble attending to her script, despite the fact that is was hovering in front of her. Her attention was riveted instead on the man in front of her, and on listening to him profess his newfound love for her, even if it was only through the voice of a long-dead squib playwright. 

Hermione recognized that this scene would likely be the only chance for her to hear such words from his lips, but she suddenly realized that it would also be the only time that she could express her own desires without fear of reprisal. Seized with sudden bravery as she grasped this fact, Hermione poured every ounce of respect and admiration, love and longing into her final speech within the scene.  She leaned toward Severus, who was perched near the top of the trellis so that he could be closer to his Juliet, as she uttered her final lines. Romeo had just expressed desire to become a bird so that he might become her pet and stay with her and she replied as though lost in the spell of Shakespeare’s words:

> _ Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing _
> 
> _ Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,  _
> 
> _ That I shall say good night till it be morrow. _

Before she could think, she leaned forward and touched her hand to his cheek, pressing a chaste and lingering kiss against his mouth.  His sudden intake of breath broke the thrall that the words had on her and she straightened with a gasp. “H--headmaster. I beg your pardon.” she stammered as she pressed her fingertips to her lips. She couldn’t read the look in his eyes and desperately feared that she’d just ruined  _ everything _ \-- her job, her relationship (such as it was) with Severus, and any chance she might have of someday rekindling their friendship. 

She was surprised, then, when her former mentor suddenly stepped over the balustrade and gathered her in his arms, closing the distance between them to return her kiss with a fervency that lit a fire in her breast. His kiss said all that she’d ever hoped to hear from him and demanded more. His mouth devoured hers with an applied dedication that had tremors moving down her spine and liquid heat pooling in her stomach. Hermione was nearly beyond rational thought as lips and teeth and tongue conquered her, heart and soul.

At long last, he broke the kiss to gaze into her eyes, looking, she thought, for reprimand or recrimination. It was all she could do to keep herself from staring at him like a drunken sixth year experiencing Firewhiskey for the first time, so mind-altering an experience was kissing Severus Snape. She stared at him anyway, speechless, and hoped that he could read her will in her eyes.

Apparently satisfied with what he saw there, his mouth quirked into a half-smile and her ran his hands down her arms. “Finally.” he breathed, before pressing a gentler kiss to her brow and drawing back to look her in the eye again. “I never dared hope this day would come.”

She returned his gaze steadily and found comfort in the warmth she found in his face. “Nor I. I assumed you thought me too young -- that you couldn’t think of me as anything other than your student.”

He chuckled. “And I thought you found me too old, too battered for such a vital witch as yourself. I was afraid that you’d reject me, and that I would become wretched in that knowledge.”

She blinked. “Then you -- “

“Love you? Always.”

She closed her eyes against the rush of feeling that surged through her and breathed “Thank the gods.” 

He brushed her hair away from her face before drawing her into a tight embrace. “I think we’ve rehearsed enough for the evening. Would you join me for a glass of wine by the fire in my quarters? I’ve missed our talks these past years, missed seeing your face across from mine.”

She snuggled closer to his chest with a smile. “Oh, Severus. I’d love that. I’ve missed you as well, so much.”

“Then come to my rooms, sleep in my bed. I have need of you, witch; you’re the only one I long for each night.”

She drew back to look at him --  _ her _ powerful, dashing, intelligent, romantic wizard. “Yes.”

The was a sudden crack as the headmaster apparated his witch to his tower, leaving the balcony, the tree, the trellis, and Hermione's teaching robes in the cold light of the classroom. They did not see the two figures at the back of the room shimmer into visibility, hands clasped to breast with delight. 

“Siobhan, you’re a genius. I simply can’t believe your little scheme worked!’ the elder witch exclaimed.

“My love, they just needed a little push. You Gryffindors are entirely too heavy handed when it comes to romantic manipulation. A Hufflepuff knows how to set a plan in motion and when to let it go. They were waiting for each other; all I did was allow them to drop their guard.” She gathered her friend's robes to return to her in the morning; Hermione didn't need to know when Siobhan had found them.

“Much as you convinced me to drop mine last year. Come on, love. Time for bed.”  
  
“It is." she said, giving her lover a peck on the cheek. "Oh, and Minerva? It didn’t take even take a week. You owe me a galleon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I revisited Romeo and Juliet for the first time since my Freshman English teacher ruined it for me in high school last week. I've always loved Shakespeare -- so much that I studied his history plays for years -- but R&J has always been a play I loathed (for much the same reason that Severus gave in Ch 1). Re-reading that text has allowed me to fall in love with large swaths of it again, even if I still think Romeo and Juliet are a couple of hormonal middle schoolers who ruin EVERYTHING for their family and friends. Mercutio, in particular, remains a favorite...alas, Queen Mab's speech doesn't really lend itself to OTP romancing.


End file.
